Getting Traditionally Published is War
Since signing the contract and sharing my success with my writing friends, I sort of have survivor’s guilt
I’m excited about my novella coming out in June, but it seems accidental, and I feel like I can’t complain. My most successful writing friends are self-published, while the rest are trapped in Sisyphus’s loop of submission and rejection.
When I remarked to one such friend how startled I feel, she said, “Especially when you get rejected over and over.” To which I didn’t respond. This was the first story I’d submitted to a publisher, for an anthology call, and it became a stand-alone novella instead. I have friends who have been working hard at submitting for years, and it doesn’t seem fair.
The high is addictive
Even though I have a long novel in the works, I’m tempted to write another short piece and submit that
Never mind that the whole point of the short story was to build an audience and/or CV for submitting the finished novel.
Then the ambitious monster on my shoulder points out that the book is taking forever, and wouldn’t it be better to have more than one piece published?
Clearly my ego is at a peak, right now, because I’m assuming that the next story I write would be good enough.
Go to the Devil, Details
When you dream about something for years, you can set yourself up for disappointment if you picture your success just so
I’ve been writing the big werewolf book with the intention of it being the first book I’d send out to agents and publishers. His Huntress seems like an upstart, a usurper.
Because the story was intended for an anthology and took a side-track, I didn’t get that letter, saying “Congratulations, your work XXXXX, has been accepted…”
Is that why I’m struggling to comprehend that it’s real? Or do I have a sense of dissatisfaction because my hopes were so exacting?
Even though this hasn’t happened the way I planned, it was kind of a surprise. I know there are people out there who don’t like surprises, but I think the only thing that makes a present or reward better, is not having seen it coming. I’m only twenty-five, but I should have learned from previous experience by now: as hard as I work, I can’t control my destiny. So far, I’ve been blessed.